


I Want To Know What You Know

by VoidVesper



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, F/M, Lesbian Sex, Revenge Sex, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidVesper/pseuds/VoidVesper
Summary: Betty needs Toni's help with something only she can do. Takes place between Jughead/Toni's hookup and Cheryl/Toni's relationship in season 2.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones/Toni Topaz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	I Want To Know What You Know

Betty’s eyes were full of challenge. Toni liked a challenge, but maybe not this one.

The two women stared at each other at the doorway of Jughead’s trailer. Betty stood high up on the steps, looking down at Toni like a queen making an announcement from the parapet. Her rank was clear. It made Toni set her jaw, grind her teeth. Another blonde from the right side of the tracks throwing her weight around with every flounce of her ponytail.

Toni considered leaving. She was only here because of Betty’s invite – not face-to-face, god, are you kidding me? The queen wouldn’t stoop to that. Just a note left in her locker. _Meet me at 2234 Linden Lane_ , she’d written. Not _Meet me at Jughead’s_. She gave the formal address, a subtle dig that she knew Toni knew where it was. And how to get there.

 _So she knows_ , thought Toni as she crumpled the note in her hand. So what if she knows? And what did Jughead tell her anyway? What was there to tell? Sure, she’d liked his kisses -- that soft wide mouth, and a jaw almost as tender as a girl’s. How he’d tremblingly pressed his hands hard against her breasts, over her shirt, and flinched as if bitten when he could feel her nipples, even as she could feel the ridge of his excitement pressed up against her thighs. It was a weird night. For both of them. She could never quite tell in his touch what he wanted, and his grief was palpable. She kept accidentally nudging where she’d tattooed him, and he winced every time. And even though Jughead’s epicene features had more than a touch of the baby butch dyke to him, the smell and shape and unmistakable dick-ness of his body just highlighted for Toni how her desire was only dialed halfway up for men. They gave up by mutual accord without undressing or going beneath the waist. Jughead spooned behind her, tremendous tenderness in his touch. She could feel his forehead pressed to the nape of her neck, the soft flickers of his brow furrowing, the hot plume of his breath against the down on her tawny skin, slowing and slowing until he was limp in sleep against her. Toni didn’t sleep. She knew in the morning she would be tough-as-nails-Toni in public again, but in the dark of the seedy trailer, her liquid dark eyes taking in all its squalid stillness, she felt the weight of his grief, and need, and knew that this was something she wanted to extricate herself from as soon as possible. It would be the kind thing to do.

But everything that transpired in those awkward, tender, secret minutes was the business of only two people. And Betty better get it through that hollow blonde head that, no matter what she knows or thinks she knows, she wasn’t invited into Toni’s private life – period.

So Toni stood, jaw set, eyes narrowed, a take-my-earrings-off smile gilding her face as she stared into her accuser’s big blue eyes. _Betty, Betty, Betty. You think you’re going to win this one_ , she thought.

“You showed up,” said Betty. No surprise in her voice. More like she could hear what Toni was thinking.

Toni stiffened and clutched her backpack strap a little tighter. Betty was right. The ultimate power play would have been to crumple up that invitation and stalk away. But she was here. Following Betty’s wishes. She swallowed at how she’d been bested on the very first move. And nothing on Betty’s face: no schadenfreude, no false welcome, no flicker of cruelty. An absolutely, pleasantly blank expression that could have meant anything and gave away nothing.

“Yeah, well, uh . . .” Toni thought of a cruel lie quickly. “Might as well pick up the clothes I left here.” Let her wonder exactly what kind of clothes.

If that statement wounded Betty, she didn’t show it. She stepped back into the dark of the trailer and held the screen door open for Toni. “Come on in.”

Toni stepped into the trailer, inwardly bristling like a wary alley cat. She looked around. Everything was the same as the last time she’d been there. The ratty sofa. The dirty cereal bowls on the kitchen table. The fold-out bed open in the trailer’s back corner. The same stillness.

“Are you alone?” Toni blurted.

Betty nodded. “Mm-hm. Come on.” She walked back to the kitchen table and placed the cereal bowls in the sink. Toni uneasily slunk into a kitchen chair as Betty swept the table clean of crumbs with her palm before sitting on the other side of the table’s corner.

“I’d like a tattoo,” said Betty.

“Nope,” said Toni. “Just because Jughead has a Serpent’s tattoo doesn’t mean you’re entitled to one.”

“I know,” said Betty evenly. “I’d like something different.” She held out her hand. “Let me see your notebook. And a pen.”

Toni knew she should say no, just for the petty pleasure of it. But against her better judgment she unzipped her backpack and gave Betty what she wanted.

Betty uncapped the pen and drew a sharp zigzag on a blank piece of paper with great concentration – up, down, up, down, forming three points. Then she connected the bottom of the zigzag with a straight line. A crown, like how a child would draw it.

Like you-know-who’s.

If Betty thought this request was going to humiliate Toni, remind her of what she’d lost, make clear whom the man who spent a night curled tenderly around her in the bed five paces away really belonged to, it wasn’t going to work. “Where do you want it?” said Toni tartly. “On your forehead?”

Betty rolled up her sleeve to the shoulder and stroked her finger across the outside of her upper arm. “Right here,” she said. “Where his tattoo is.”

Fine. If this bitch wants to obliterate the spot where a Serpent tattoo is supposed to go, better for all of us. “I don’t have my gun,” said Toni. Another lie. Her tattoo gun was nestled perfectly functional at the bottom of her bookbag. Toni just wanted to see how far she could push this. “It’ll have to be a stick-and-poke.”

Betty didn’t even blink. “Fine.”

A little chill went up Toni’s neck. Staring down Betty Cooper was like staring down the horizon of the ocean. You think you see it, and then the immense distance of it fools you, snaps into a flat picture, lets you know how little you can handle its magnitude while it seethes quietly, peacefully on.

Toni got out her ink and a lighter. “I’ll need a needle,” she said.

Betty yanked open the kitchen’s junk drawer with a smooth confidence that suggested she knew the contents of every nook and cranny of the crammed trailer. “Here,” she said, needle and pencil and rubber band in her palm. Toni took them.

F.P’s vodka wiped down Betty’s skin. Toni swept the needle through a lighter’s flame until its tip glowed supernova like a blacksmith’s iron. She pulled ink from her bag and dipped the needle. It sizzled with a hot clean _hissss_.

She hesitated before making the first poke on Betty’s virgin skin, a display of kindness she didn’t know she was going to make until she heard herself warn “It’ll hurt”.

“I know,” said Betty.

Toni didn’t spare Betty. That needle drove deep and true, but Betty didn’t flinch. She just stared calmly and impassively at a point on the linoleum, breathing evenly like her lover Jughead did against Toni’s neck that night. This was as close as Toni had ever been to the hated Betty Cooper. But here, touching the naked skin of her arm, feeling the warmth radiating off her skin in the cold trailer, Toni could see the nobility in her profile. She wondered why she’d never noticed Betty’s icy sensuality before, and suddenly her appeal to Jughead wasn’t quite as much of a mystery anymore.

Toni started by marking off the seven dots she’d connect into the simple constellation of Jughead’s crown, then connecting the points in dotted lines that grew less and less sparse with each stabbing pass of her needle. Betty took every deep, unsparing stab with absolute, unflinching cool. “You’ve never had a tattoo before?” Toni asked with begrudging admiration. Betty shook her head no, the motion flouncing her ponytail in a way that might have annoyed Toni before but now just made her think about what that shiny floss hair felt like between her fingers.

“You’re taking this really well,” Toni murmured.

“You did this to Jughead,” said Betty. She looked at Toni, and Toni’s breath caught in her throat at the power behind those doll eyes. “I want to know everything.”

Toni froze. The rejoinder rose up on her tongue. _Sorry, honey, but that’s none of your business. I’m not telling you anyth—_

“Telling isn’t knowing,” said Betty, and for one weightless moment Toni thought maybe those cornflower blue eyes _can_ see right into someone’s soul.

Betty motioned to her arm where the black pointillist crown faintly freckled her skin. “This is knowing. Feeling the needle. Feeling your touch. Knowing I’ll never be the same again.”

“And he knows what that’s like,” said Toni, mouth dry. “And you –“

Betty smiled, sweetness with a dangerous wink in it. “I want to know what he knows.”

Toni said nothing as Betty turned her gaze away from her again. “I’m not angry that you kissed him,” she said evenly. “I know the gist of what happened between you. You don’t have to stop,” she said, motioning to the half-finished tattoo on her arm. “Keep going.”

Toni warily dipped the needle again, not taking her eyes off of Betty as she kept at the steady poke, poke, poke in her arm, wiping the crimson blood welling up with the black ink as Betty kept talking.

“I’m not tattling on a kiss-and-tell,” Betty continued. “He told me because I asked. And I believe him. I know he might have spared me gory details but I am certain he has not lied.”

“He told me you’d broken up,” said Toni.

“I know,” said Betty, easy astonishment in her voice. “I _know_ all this, Toni. You don’t seem to get this.”

A charged silence hung between the two women. Poke, poke, poke. Bleed, bleed, bleed. The dots were lines now, pointillated and crude but no longer merely connect-the-dots. Betty’s blood was staining Toni’s fingers, running under her fingernails, cobwebbing into strange estuaries in the fine canals of her fingerprints. Blood sisters. Betty lifted her hand to tuck a blonde tendril back behind her ear and Toni saw in an ugly flash the four raw half-moon wounds stamped into her palm.

Toni looked over at the unfolded sofa bed.

“He folds that bed up every morning,” she said. “I know _that_.”

“I’ve seen him do that, too,” said Betty, and her predator eyes did not leave Toni’s.

Betty’s face suddenly shone in sharp relief against reality. This was not the face of a girl-next-door. A sweetheart you’d crush hard on. A wet dream. Toni could see a devouring darkness, a fathoms-deep yin energy that transcended Betty’s pretty face. The goddess Kali in a blonde ponytail. For one moment Toni was actually afraid.

It hit her like a sledgehammer.

“You want to know –“ said Toni.

“—what he knows,” finished Betty.

Betty edged closer to Toni. Toni noticed – or permitted herself to notice, finally – how busty Betty was under that t-shirt, and how heavy those breasts might feel against her palms. She could feel the testimony of what Jughead had done to her – how he’d kissed her, how he’d touched her – written on her body like Braille . . . and the hunger in Betty’s fingertips to read it . . .

. . . and her willingness to be read, an open book . . .

Betty was upon her with cobra strike speed. The V of her fingers threaded around Toni’s ears, the fierce cradle of her palms seizing the nape of her skull, pulling Toni closer, to her face, to her mouth, to her kiss. The spill of the upturned bottle of ink spreading across the table like a violent galaxy. Darkness unleashed.

Something narcotic washed into Toni’s brain as Betty’s tongue thrashed against her teeth, something pliant and ravished and wanton. She was the Serpent but Betty was the venom, and as Toni’s shocked and eager mouth returned the kiss a succulent paralysis swept over her. Jughead wasn’t like this. _Nobody_ was like this. Is this why he gave up that night? Because once you’ve had this kind of poison in your veins, where you’re the prey and Betty unhinges her jaws to swallow you whole into her dark magic, every mere mortal makeout session is strictly middle school?

“I want to know,” gasped Betty’s hot breath into her.

“Like this,” breathed Toni, and grabbed Betty’s hands and palpated them against her breasts, outside her shirt. But Betty wasn’t having it. She wrenched her hands out of Toni’s weak grasp and dove them under Toni’s shirt, popping her breasts out from under the underwire guards of her bra, like shucking an oyster, and Toni gulped a strangled cry as Betty’s hands palpated the juicy weight of them, sought out her nipples, made her hunch double like a rabid animal as jolts of pleasure reverberated down in lightning strikes to her clit.

“It was like _this_ ,” said Betty, the truth on the hot sirocco of her breath, and Toni’s conscience twinged – yes, it was like this, Jughead’s hands were here, underneath a bra she’d boldly unhooked for him, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a hard choked swallow as he cupped breasts that weren’t Betty’s, that were smaller and tawnier and ripe with implied adultery.

The button at the top of Toni’s waistband twisted in Betty’s knuckles. Her dark purr:

“Don’t lie to me.”

“It was like this,” said Toni, and her hands slid up under Betty’s sweater, finding – oh, god, her breasts were huge, plush, the gravity of stars, so overlush it was hard to remember the tight flat skin of Jughead’s chest against the heavy petal-soft feel of her flesh. On sudden impulse she dropped her head and honed her lips on the bull’s-eye of Betty’s wide-areolaed nipples. The jolt of arousal that had woken up her clit now hummed through her pussy in a ripe and luxuriant glow. Forget the memory of Jughead’s sharp exhalation when her bared teeth bit at him. Sex with men was colorblind, gloved, muffled behind a wall of her own apathy for their bodies. But women –

_women_

“You know what he knows,” said Betty, her hips winding in unconscious delight at Toni’s soft suctioning mouth on her, her cool voice ragged at the edges with unmistakable pleasure.

“We were in that bed,” Toni gasped.

The two women fell onto the dingy sheets and the malnourished mattress. “Tell me more,” hissed Betty, criss-crossing her naked torso out of her sweater. Toni ran the heel of her hand, hard, against the sweet drag of the seam of Betty’s jeans between her legs. Do this on a man and you can feel all his urgency concentrated in five inches of lobotomized demand, that strange bulge that’s self-important, laughable, embarrassing with need even on someone as gracious as Jughead. There’s no capital city on the map of woman’s arousal. It’s all one territory, every follicle of it, and even though Jughead’s touch and breath and weight knew that, _proved_ he knew that, Betty’s body had trained him well, his lacking corpus could never really understand.

“He did this,” breathed Toni. “But I want more than what he got.”

Betty wriggled out of her jeans and Toni’s tongue was instantly upon her. The crinkling musk texture of her fur underneath the satin of her panties. The way Toni’s tongue could creep only slightly under the teasing elastic at the edge to find a playground as nubbled and hot and slick as the tongue that sought it out. Betty hooked her thumbs under her panties and slid them down. Dirty blonde champagne bramble, ruffled orchid labia, fat shameless clit refusing to stay tucked inside, like a good girl. The glow in Toni’s own pussy hiccupped in sweet spasms. She salivated. She crawled out of her own clothes and slid herself across Betty’s equally naked body, every cell singing in primal delight at the touch of skin to girl skin.

“He licks me,” said Betty, and that was all Toni needed to hear. Of course he does. Sweet good boy Jughead, all outrage and scowls but utterly eager to please. _He has been here_ , Toni thought as she dragged the tip of her tongue through the molten gully, flicking the notch of Betty’s urethra, the lemon taste of her supercharged flesh making her salivate. Betty sighed and uncoiled and Toni saw her thighs fall open just slightly more, that deep slut hungry reflex when it feels very, very good and you want so, so, _so_ much more. Toni wouldn’t refuse her. Not when the meat of her pussy feels so supple and complex under her tongue, the hard seed pearl of her clit sliding under its coy hoods. Toni drooled a warm string right on the sweet spot, that 11 o’clock dot on the clit that every woman knows and every man has to learn, if he bothers, and could almost see the subtle flutter of what must be going on inside her as Betty released a low throaty growl of delight.

That growl went right through Toni’s marrow, ground itself against her g-spot, gave her that cat-in-heat itch to get stroked, penetrated, fucked until she saw stars. She raised herself up –

“Betts . . . what are you doing?”

Toni turned in cold horror.

Jughead, standing in the trailer door. A look of incomprehensible, gutted hurt on his face. The guilt pulverized Toni’s heart. What was she doing? She snatched her shirt and pressed it futilely to her chest, trying to hide her shame.

Betty didn’t move.

Betty sat up on her elbows. That look in her eyes. That predator smirk playing on her lips.

She crooked her finger, slowly. Toni was horrified to realize that, as ashamed as she was, she still wished that finger was crooking against her g-spot, deep inside her.

Jughead walked towards them. He still wore that look of uncomprehending hurt but there was a sleepwalker trance to his steps. He knelt at the side of the bed, on one knee, his thrall total and naked. The nectar of supplication.

“Now I know, too," said Betty.

“I’m sorry,” said Jughead. He dropped his head and Betty cradled it, pressing him to her breasts. It was as if Toni wasn’t even there. “It was a mistake. I regret it,” he nearly sobbed. “You have every right. To _anything_.”

“Let me see your hands,” said Betty, in that cool dangerous voice. Oh, Kali, with your tongue and your belt of skulls. Now I am become death, destroyer of worlds.

Suddenly with gut-cold horror Toni realized how deeply she was threaded into the psychosexual drama laid out before her. She _had_ tattooed Jughead. She’d given him that serpent tattoo, the night that he’s paying for, and would on some level always pay for. But then he’d come back to her three weeks later, with the strangest, most random request. She’d done it, without asking questions. She wasn’t impressed enough to care. But now she realized what kind of spell Betty had over him, and the enormity of what she’d done –

In a trance, Jughead unfolded his fists and there, in the center of his palms, were the second tattoos Toni gave him. Eight black parentheses, four on each palm, half-moon scars just like his mistress wore.


End file.
